


While You Were Sleeping

by eratothemuse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Coffee Shop, F/M, Fluff, Minor Angst, No wincest to be seen here, Safe For Work, While You Were Sleeping - Freeform, sfw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-13 18:36:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17493134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eratothemuse/pseuds/eratothemuse
Summary: You live a simple life. You go to work at Charlie’s Coffee House, you pay your bills, you fantasize about finally bucking up the courage to speak more than three words to the tall, attractive regular who you knew only by the name that gets scrawled on the side his coffee cup. Simple. Up until the minute you wind up accidentally becoming his fiancée, that is… and he doesn’t even know it yet. [While You Were Sleeping AU, Coffee-Shop!AU? — I’m playing fast and loose with the plot.]





	1. An Accidental Engagement

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t judge me! I love _While You Were Sleeping_ and I really wanted to write this AU for SPN! I added in a coffee shop because I love coffee shops! This is shameless self-indulgence and not much else tbh… I plan on this being several parts, but I don’t have how many pinned down yet! Second part is in progress right now, so I decided to post this one. [Also, due to school, it may take some time for me to post chapters, so please be patient with me!] Give me feedback to let me know if I should keep this going, or what you’d like to see in later chapters!

**|  Part 1  |** _**An Accidental Engagement** _

_****_****Gif source:[1](https://megmeg-chan.tumblr.com/post/181517981297/no-matter-what-mood-i-am-in-looking-at-misha)  |  [2](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fgiphy.com%2Fgifs%2Fsupernatural-rhtCOS4OhK4iQ&t=OWFjOTk2ZmE1YmMzZWU3MzkwNzJjOTIzNjUxZGU5OWZkZDUxMTBjZSxZSk1VZDR1aA%3D%3D&b=t%3AuNoi0AujsProexVbD5JsWA&p=https%3A%2F%2Fthranduilsperkybutt.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F182180960743%2Fwhile-you-were-sleeping-a-supernatural-au-gif&m=0)  |  [3](https://megmeg-chan.tumblr.com/post/161386353407)  |  [4](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fgiphy.com%2Fgifs%2Fcoffee-gif-b20xYPLz9bEGs&t=NTc1OTY4Mzk5OTJkYjRhYmY0YzcxOWVlOWFhNTRhODMyMTMwZjliNSxZSk1VZDR1aA%3D%3D&b=t%3AuNoi0AujsProexVbD5JsWA&p=https%3A%2F%2Fthranduilsperkybutt.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F182180960743%2Fwhile-you-were-sleeping-a-supernatural-au-gif&m=0)

* * *

 

Just the sight of him was enough to have your breath catching in your throat. He moved through the coffee shop familiarly, with a confident grace as he arrived right on the six-thirty dot as had become routine. He looked crisp in his dark suit, which was no doubt expensive if the glance you got beneath his heavier winter coat was anything to go by. It was the height of winter, in that freezing limbo between Christmas and New Years, but the murky clouds above were determined stay, bordering on the threat of snowfall. Long, leather-gloved fingers push back the chocolate locks of hair that had cascaded into his vision as he ordered the same thing he always did, before moving to the side to wait on his order, completely oblivious to the way you had barely been able to function since he came in the door as he turns his attention down to his phone.

“Sam!” Charlie barks out not three minutes later, her fiery red hair tied up into a bun that was already falling down her neck and would most likely fall to pieces before her shift was over. Your heart skips a beat as the tall man looks up from his phone before taking his nonfat soy latte from the pass and hurrying towards the door in long, fluid steps without a second glance behind him, instead focused on whatever important text he was tapping away on his cell.

You sigh, watching him leave. There he went, your future husband, in all his mountainous glory. You could see it now, the two of you together. You could fit perfectly under his arm, thanks to his height. Maybe you could even warm to the idea of having a few rugrats running around eventually, if it was with him. Of course, it would be after he inevitably proposed and you had your own luxurious, fairy-tale wedding. You hoped they would look more like him, with his hazel eyes, and dark hair—

Charlie swatting playfully at your butt with a dishtowel brings you out of your fantasy, forcing the empty coffee mug in your hands back to the forefront of your attention, “Hey, lovergirl, quit drooling and get back to work!” Thankful the door had just closed behind Sam, you jump a bit at the smack. You shoot her a light glare, but still feel the pang of embarrassment at having been caught. Charlie just snickers at you, looking back to the line as Cas takes the next customer in her absence, “Look, chica, I don’t know why you don’t just go on and talk to the suit already! You’ve nothing to worry about. I know a billion girls who would think they went to heaven to be on a date with you! You’re gorgeous, and a super cool friend, which is a diamond in the rough to find nowadays.”

“Don’t butter me up like one of your croissants, Char! I don’t think talking to your online girlfriends would be the same as bucking up the courage to talk to him,” even though you roll your eyes, you can’t deny the gratefulness you had for her compliments. She single-handedly boosted your self-esteem half of the time, but you doubted it would ever actually grow enough for you to actually make a move on  _Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome_  who frequented her coffee shop.

“If this Friday goes well, it won’t be online anymore! I’ve got that date with Ruthy, remember?” Charlie reminds, adding a slight, happy squeal to the end of her declaration as she pulls the lever to the latte machine, a tuft of air accenting her giddy excitement as she froths the next order’s milk.

“And you’ll totally knock her socks off! But, me?” Finishing up the order you had, you send it to the pass with a call of, “I’ve got a black coffee for… Chuck,” before looking back to your boss, “I can’t make it past three words when he comes in! You know that you and Cas have to handle his order all the time, because I’m completely useless when it comes to actually speaking more than one singular word to his stupid, beautiful face.”

She glances back at you skeptically, in the midst of making the espresso order Cas had sent her way before taking his next customer, only to chuckle at your pout, “But have you even tried—?”

The sound of tires screeching violently and people shouting interrupts Charlie and pulls you away from the conversation, your attention shooting towards the glass door to focus on a commotion beyond the windows of  _Charlie’s Coffee House_. Your heart jumps into your throat, a sharp fear rushing through you as you realize what is happening in the parking lot.

You didn’t know you could move that fast, as you hadn’t a reason to in the past couple of years, but you closed the gap to the door quickly with how you found yourself running. Disregarding anything else in your haste to get to the scene outside, you pushed out into the winter morning without a care for the way the wind whipped through you, unable to settle it’s chill into your bones with the heat of the adrenaline already warming you.

Not bothering to stop at the driver, you dart past him, barely catching the stunned explanation, “He— he just walked right out in front of me, on his phone! I didn’t see him until he was right there!” There, on the ground not three feet from the grille of the driver’s Audi, was your favorite customer, his nonfat soy latte scattered and soaking slowly into the unforgiving asphalt.

“Sir? Sir!” you rush to his side, slightly out of breath as you gently press at his shoulders. When you get no response, your gentle pressing grows rougher in an attempt to get him to stir, your voice coming more frantic and scared at the lack of response, “S-Sir, are you okay? Please, say something if you can hear me!” That’s when you notice the blood beginning to pool from beneath his head. Heart hammering in your chest, you turn towards the driver and shout with far more assertion than you ever had in your life, “Call 9-1-1, right now!” Looking back to him, you don’t dare move him, freezing up in a horrifying moment of uncertainty.  _What do I do? What do I do?_

“Oh my god,” you faintly recognize Charlie’s voice from beside you, watching her grey converse sneakers step closer in your peripheral as your hands press into the asphalt, cold and wet beneath your fingers, while you try to get enough of a grip to be useful at all.

Mustering up his name, you urge, hearing the desperation to your voice, “Sam? Sam, come on, buddy… tell me something!”

“I don’t think he’s breathing,” comes gruffly from Cas, who looked on from the sidelines, but still managed to notice something that you hadn’t. You were beginning to draw a crowd now, and Sam still hadn’t stirred yet.

Glancing around frantically, catching the eyes of anyone who would look at you directly, you ask, “Is anyone a doctor? Or nurse? EMT?” When you get only a collective, resounding murmur in response, you look back to Sam, unresponsive and most certainly not breathing at this very moment. You knew you needed to act fast.

If the CPR class you took for kicks last summer was ever going to do you any good, now would be the time.

“Oh, god. Okay. I got this. I got this,” hands shaking you wipe the gravel off your hands before you press them,  _hard_ , one atop the other, in the center of his chest, silently praying that you don’t break any ribs, “Sorry, Sam…”

* * *

You were still shaking by the time you got to the hospital. Whether it was from the ordeal or from the chill that had finally soaked into you, you didn’t know. Charlie urged you go with the paramedics who took Sam, and they needed someone to tell them what happened anyway. She excused her motives as liability reasons, since the accident had technically occurred on her property, but you figured otherwise. Either way, you were too worried about him to refuse, especially in the split second you had to decide as he was getting hoisted into the ambulance.

Following after the doctors and nurses as they wheel him through the emergency room, you’re quickly stopped by one of them as you come to a set of large double doors, which Sam quickly disappears behind, “Sorry, only family past this point.”

“But—”

“Are you family, ma’am?”

“N-No, but—”

“Then, you can’t accompany him.”

“I’m— I’m his fiancée!”

Your hand goes over your mouth as soon as you’ve said it.  _Shit_ , why did you just lie? The guilt is immediate and you’re about to backtrack, but the nurse changes his tune at the information.

“Oh! Well, why didn’t you say so? This way, please!”

You don’t know why your feet follow him or why you keep to yourself the fact that you weren’t, in fact, this stranger’s fiancée, but the deeper you find yourself going into the hospital, the more you convince yourself that this is only until you make sure Sam is okay. He didn’t have anyone with him, so you were the only one there to check in on him. After all, what harm could it do if you just stayed long enough to make sure he was okay?

Besides, it was too late to tell anyone otherwise now, right?

You wrestle with the realization of your deception until you’re drawn out of it by a different nurse than before, a shorter, kind-looking older lady who smiles sympathetically at you, “Mr. Winchester has been transferred to the third floor, so you can go to his room, now. I can take you, if you’d like?”

“Oh, no, I can find it. Third floor, right?” you confirm, wishing to be out of the family waiting room as quickly as possible. You knew that you don’t belong there, and the guilt was already eating at you for having lied earlier. It put you on edge, but the slight worry made everything much clearer as you sought out his room, as if it were a task to complete.

You’d just make sure he was alright, then you’d leave, and go back to being the girl at the coffee shop that he didn’t know existed. That’s that. The way it was meant to be.

When the elevator dinged, signalling the third floor, you find the nurse’s station easily enough, and they give you his room number freely since you’re his  _fiancée_ , after all, and it was  _just so wonderful_  you were there to stay by his side. It was a smaller room that they had him in, lined with glass so the nurses could monitor him at their station, which made you feel a little more at ease that maybe he wouldn’t be as alone as you thought. At least the nurses would be keeping a watch over him. It also made you feel a bit less awkward, as if you weren’t doing something wrong by staring through the glass to make sure he wasn’t currently on the brink of death anymore.

By the time you become satisfied that you’ve done all you can, nearly ready to turn and leave, you’re caught by an older man in a lab coat who had headed your way, “Ah, you must be Mr. Winchester’s fiancée. I’m Dr. Stanton. Why don’t we go in, so I can get you up to speed on what’s been happening with him?”

“Oh, uh,” you glance away from the doctor, trying to come up with an excuse to leave and failing, before you inevitably follow him into the room with a meek, “okay.”

“I know you must be very worried right now, after an ordeal like you’ve been through— I understand you performed CPR after the accident?” Dr. Stanton was a mature-looking man, with kind eyes and a receding hairline. He fixed you with a sympathetic stare, over the glasses which must have been for reading, as he didn’t seem to need them to watch your reaction.

“Yes— Well, I tried, at least. I only took a layman’s class last summer, because my friend, Charlie, got on a worst-case-scenario kick,” you admit, before adding with worry, “I didn’t hurt him any, did I? No…” you linger on the words, sparing a worried glance to Sam and fixating on his chest, though you can’t see any bandages through the hospital gown they had him in, “broken bones, right?”

“Oh, no, no! You didn’t break any ribs, thankfully. In fact, you may just have given him the time he needed to get to the hospital—”

“ _Oh, my god!_ ” wails from the door to the hospital room, drawing yours and the doctor’s attention to a blonde woman who rushes to Sam’s side immediately, trailed after by a tall man who had a salt-and-pepper beard, and two others. “What happened to my boy?”

“Sam?” the second man, wearing a worn-looking baseball cap, calls out, to no response. He looks towards the brunette woman at his side, “When was the last time you heard from him, Ellen?”

“You know that boy hasn’t been home in over a year, Bobby! I haven’t heard from him no more than you,” she huffs, before moving towards the blonde woman to offer a comforting hand on her shoulder, “He’ll be fine, Mary. I know it. That boy of yours is strong.”

“Excuse me, but who are all of you?” Dr. Stanton huffs, clearly a bit perplexed by the sudden influx of people into the room.

It’s  _Salt-and-Pepper_  who speaks, all firm brow and frown as he fixes the doctor with a stern look, “I’m Sam’s father, John Winchester, and this is my wife, Mary,” he gestures to the blonde currently grasping Sam’s hand, “What happened to him? We were told on the phone he was in some sort of accident—”

You ease towards the door, hoping to slip out relatively unnoticed now that Sam’s family had arrived, but you’re stopped in your tracks by a girl who appeared to have been at the back of the pack, lingering by the door. She was about your age, maybe a bit younger.

Looking you over, apparently sizing you up with a scrutinizing look, she states boldly, “You aren’t dressed like a nurse,” which draws the attention of the rest of the family, as her arms cross over her chest, “Who even are you?”

“I’m… (Y/N),” you manage dumbly, noting the growing silence at your lack of real explanation, “I’m, uh…”

“Mr. Winchester’s fiancée,” Dr. Stanton clarifies slowly, as if to remind them, as he looks on incredulously.

“Fiancée?!” John nearly shouts, anger boiling under the surprise in his tone, “That’s just like him! Moving off! Not even bothering to tell  _his family_  he’s getting married!” John’s hand grabbing the end of the bed roughly makes a loud, banging noise that makes you jump in surprise.  _Wow, looks like things are not peachy in this family dynamic._

“You don’t think you have anything to do with why Sam doesn’t share with the rest of us how he lives his life? You just  _had_  to keep pushing him about the family business,” Mary shoots back, quieting her husband with one cold look. That doesn’t stop John from scoffing, or glaring his attention back to you in a way that put you on edge at the fire behind his dark eyes.

“He woulda’ told Dean, though! And Dean woulda’ told me!” the girl currently standing between you and the exit huffs, still not buying it.

“Jo, honey,” Ellen begins, moving from Mary to her daughter, a slightly wistful glint in her eye, “I wouldn’t be so sure of that nowadays. You know how private Sam’s got. I don’t even think Dean talks to him like he used to.”

“It’s a surprise… but it’s not like Sam’s ever been too keen on bringing home his girlfriends before,” Bobby adds softly, looking on sadly at Sam before his eyes are drawn back to you. “At least you seem more level-headed than the last one. She was a  _handful_.”

“Can we please get back to what, exactly, happened to my son?” Mary demands from the doctor, getting his attention with her snap of annoyance. “Why isn’t he waking up?!”

“He’s in a coma,” Dr. Stanton frowns, before following up the swift blow with, “but his brain waves appear normal. There was some brain swelling from the concussion due to the car accident, but luckily there are no broken bones. He’s a tough one, your son. We expect him to heal adequately, but these things just take time. We’re keeping him heavily medicated as well, which can contribute to the sedation, but we want him to use as little energy as possible while he heals. It truly would have been much worse had his fiancée not given him emergency CPR at the scene.”

“You… you did that?” John’s glare softens a bit at that, astonished at your life-saving efforts, only for you to be cut off from forming any response when a pair of strong arms pull you into an embrace that knocks the wind out of you. Awkwardly, you lean into it, giving a tense hug in return to Mary, who had a deceptively good grip that forced you to linger until she was ready to pull back.

She blinks away the tears that brimmed her lashes just as quickly as they appeared, but you still catch it, as well as the slight strain to her voice when she thanks you, “Thank you for caring so much about Sam. He would… he’s going to be so grateful when he wakes up. He was… lucky you were around.” The way she says it, like it was almost hard for her to admit, makes you acutely aware that she must not say things like this too often. You were about to tell her that, no, you did what anyone would have done, but you don’t have the chance to formulate your words into an appropriate response, despite the lingering pause that permeated the hospital room, accompanying the repetitive beeping of Sam’s vitals on the monitor.

“You know what, why don’t you come to the family dinner on Sunday?” Ellen offers you a smile, trying to lighten the mood and fill the silence, “After all, you’re gonna’ be family soon enough, and we have some getting to know each other to do.”

“That’s a great idea, Ellen,” Bobby chips in with a laugh, giving a familiar pat to Sam’s calf, “This boy’s kept ya’ all to himself for long enough!”

“Wow, that’s…” you find yourself at a loss for words yet again. They all were so welcoming, so ready to take you into their homes, all looking so hopefully that you would accept the offer. Once again, your mouth does exactly the opposite of what your mind was telling it to do, and accepts the offer, “That sounds… great, actually.”

“Oh, Dean’s gonna’  _love_  this,” Jo’s sarcastic tone draws your attention to her.

“Jo,” Ellen warns, but Jo ignores it.

“What, Mama? You know it’s true!” You raise a brow as she looks down at Sam with a sigh, “He’s gonna’ go crazy when he finds out Sam’s kept this a secret. They used to tell each other  _everything_  before, well… before. If Dean didn’t know about this, he’s gonna’ be crushed.”

“Sam and Dean are close?” you ask tentatively.

Jo looks at you like the answer is clear, before she adds, “Well,  _duh_ , they’re brothers.”


	2. Long Road Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You bring Charlie up to speed on things and learn a little more about Sam from a colleague. Car trouble causes delays but a handsome stranger swoops in and saves the day.  
>  **Chapter Warnings:** Some cursing. Lengthy exposition. Nothing else, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyy! Here’s part two! So this slow-burn is going slower than I planned, but I’ve got a lot of ideas! Next chapter things are going to start to heat up between Dean/Reader and I plan on going into some more detail on both of their pasts! Hope y’all keep enjoying!

**|  Part 2  |**   _ **Long Road Home**_

Gif source:  [1](https://megmeg-chan.tumblr.com/post/181921685862/pegagamer-i-found-picturesgifs-for-chapters)  |  [2](https://megmeg-chan.tumblr.com/post/178533181977/jensenackles-daily-endless-gifs-of-dean)  |  [3](https://megmeg-chan.tumblr.com/post/182204886412)

* * *

 

"You told them _what_?"

“Shh!” you hiss quickly, glancing around the shop to make sure none of the patrons had been too disturbed by Charlie’s startled shout. Charlie, on the other hand, hardly seemed worried about the few curious eyes her outburst had drawn, too occupied with gaping at you in disbelief to notice. You couldn’t blame her; not after the story you filled her in on over the course of the morning, “I know, I know! All I wanted to do was make sure he was okay, but everything just snowballed out of control!”

“A snowball would be an understatement! You’re like Indiana Jones in  _Raiders_ , and the giant boulder that’s chasing you is the web of lies you’re weaving!” Charlie waves her hands at you dramatically, but there was a teasing tone in her voice, “You’re so doomed!”

“Thanks,” you comment sarcastically, “that’s really what I needed to hear right now, with the family dinner right around the corner. You’re a big help, Charlie.”

Leaning on the counter top, you’re thankful the  _Coffee House_ ’s morning rush had decided to settle down with the nearing of noon, making it easier to finally have this talk with your friend. The night of the accident, the best you could do upon arriving home was to crash on your bed, your exhaustion taking all the wind out of you. But in the light of day, you found yourself seriously in need of Charlie’s insight on the situation, despite her reputation for brutal honesty or her lack of viable relationship advice. With her having gone to her class yesterday, you hadn’t seen her at work, and this was a conversation best had face-to-face.

“You know, you’re probably right,” reaching to take a sip of ice water from the Yeti you bought yourself this Christmas, a heavy sigh escapes you, “Maybe I should just back out of it. Come up with an excuse not to go---”

“Oh, no you don’t! You  _have_ to go to it,” Charlie interrupts, nearly making you choke on your water as her features smooth with her seriousness. She tugs her hair out of its falling messy ponytail, letting the fiery tendrils drape across her shoulders for an instant as she pops the band around her wrist.

“ _What?_  I thought I was ‘doomed,’ remember? Your words, not mine,” quoting her in the air with your index and middle fingers, you fix her with a skeptical brow. _What’s with the sudden one-eighty?_  She was going to give you whiplash at this rate.

“Oh, you are still  _totally_ doomed, my dude,” she breaks into a teasing grin, pulling her hair back up to fix it into a, hopefully sturdier, bun, “but this is the most interesting thing that’s happened in the past three years I’ve known you! I’ve gotta’ see how it turns out. Nothing exciting ever happens to you!”

“Wow, Char,” rolling your eyes, you scoff. “Glad to know this is at least amusing for  _you_! Meanwhile, I’ll just completely wallow in my own guilt about living a lie! His family--- they’re so nice to me. They wanted to know how we met, what made me know he was the one, and all I could say was that his eyes were kind. I don’t deserve how nice they are.”

“Okay, fine! If you won’t listen to me, listen to… Cas!” she calls, drawing him to look up from where he was currently in the midst of restocking the blueberry muffins, “Cas, please tell (Y/N) that she should go to her fake-fiancé’s family dinner!”

“Don’t drag Cas into this,” the protest does nothing to quell her enthusiasm. You can see it in her eyes, she was nowhere through with trying to convince you to go.

Cas’ dark brows draw together in confusion beneath the  _Charlie’s Coffee House_ cap he wore, before he decides it’s better to not question her too much, and fixates his sapphire eyes on you, “You should go to your fake-fiancé’s family dinner.”

In all honesty, you didn’t need much convincing to go. Somewhere buried beneath the rational side of you who knew there was something morally wrong with lying to Sam’s family more than you already had, was a desperate want to experience a family dinner. You ached to have at least one day’s worth of the simple family gathering you never got to have. Living your life with an estranged family was better than being around them, but it still hurt that you could never experience the things that normal families got to. Gathering around a dinner table always seemed just barely out of your family’s reach, each Christmas or Thanksgiving being filled with some sort of drama or falling-out. The dysfunctional circular motions your family went in each year resulted in your slow drift away from them, until it culminated in this year, when you hadn’t even received so much as a phone call on Christmas.

As one last-ditch effort to talk yourself out of it and listen to the morally-correct angel clinging onto your shoulder by a thread, you murmur, “I should tell them I’m not his fiancée. Ripping the band-aid off sooner is better than later, right?”

While you had expected Charlie to start in on you, it’s Cas that pulls your listening ear back to him, “While I did not catch all of your story, (Y/N), I believe I’ve heard enough to have a grasp on the situation you find yourself in. From my perspective, I don’t think you should tell your fake-fiancée’s family the truth right now.”

“Someone pinch me! Did the saint just tell you to  _lie_?” Charlie quips, making Cas’ shoot her a mildly annoyed glare at her teasing nickname for him.

“All I’m saying is, what good would come from it? Think about it,” Cas begins, leaning beside you on the counter as he tries to make his point clear, “if you do tell them, yes, they most likely would be upset, but they also are having to handle their son’s accident, too. Do you really think it is the time to give them the truth? It’s a mercy to keep it to yourself, at least for now.”

“What happens when Sam wakes up, though? It’s going to be even worse, then, if I don’t come clean now,” you worry your bottom lip with your teeth, feeling quite stuck between a rock and a hard place. It seemed that whatever you did, the end result left you hurting them, and admitting the embarrassing truth that you’d lied, regardless of what your initial intentions were.

What was the saying? The road to hell is paved with good intentions. You never quite put too much thought into the phrase until right now.

“When Sam does wake up, at least that is one less thing they have to worry about,” he offers.

“Our friendly neighborhood saint has a point,” Charlie hums, gripping Cas’ shoulder in her own proud approval. “Maybe you should put it off until Sam’s back up and running. At least they won’t have to worry about you  _and_ Sam at the same time.”

“Ugh, I hate to say that you two are probably right,” you groan, rubbing your temples, “how did I get myself into this mess?”

“You told a fib,” it comes out jokingly, but all it makes you want to do is smack her for it. Luckily, you’re saved from the conversation by a vibrating in your back pocket. Pointing up your index finger in the universal gesture for them to hold on a second, you pull the phone from your pocket, not recognizing the name there.

 _Arthur Ketch_ , it announced.

“Huh,” you huff, debating whether you should even answer the call. It wasn’t even your phone, it was Sam’s. You had just been toting it around in case it got a call, but you hadn’t  _actually_ thought you would be on the receiving end of one, as Sam was in the hospital.

“Did you purchase a new phone?” Cas wonders, but you shake your head.

“No, it’s… Sam’s,” the admission earns a scandalized gasp from Charlie, and you quickly explain, “The hospital gave me his stuff! I’m  _the fiancée_ , remember?” Finally deciding it could be something important, you move away from the two of them, if only for the space to breathe that the distance provided. Swiping to answer, you lift the cell to your ear and motion for them to be quiet, “Hello? This is Sam’s phone.”

“Uhm, hello,” the man’s voice was accented, but curious, as he drawled through the crackly reception of the phone, “To whom am I speaking?”

“This is (Y/N), I’m… taking Sam’s calls while he’s in the hospital. Would you like to leave a message?”

“In the hospital? My goodness, so that explains why he hasn’t called in to the office! What’s he gone and done to himself this time?”

“He was hit by a car on Wednesday,” you reply, choosing the blunt approach. “He’s in a coma right now, but the doctors think he’s doing better. Sorry--- you said ‘the office?’ Are you from Sam’s work?”

“Ah, yes. My apologies. This is Arthur Ketch of  _MacLeod and Associates_. I was calling to see why Sam had neglected work, but I dare say this is quite a valid excuse for not showing up, or giving a call-in, for that matter,” Arthur chuckled in his own amusement, before adding. “Which hospital did you say he was in, again?”

“I didn’t, actually, but he’s at  _Lawrence Memorial_ ,” you wondered if your frown was audible through the phone. This guy didn’t even sound too upset at the news that Sam was in the hospital, as if this were just another business phone call. _Freakin’ lawyers._

“We’re very sorry to hear that. I will definitely pass on the news to our partners. Of course, we wish Sam will get well soon,” he pauses, before adding, “He is one of our best attorneys, after all. But, it can’t be helped. Please, be certain to send our sympathies to his family. It is truly bad luck after the last accident.”

“The… last accident?” you press, only to hear Arthur click his tongue in response.

“It isn’t my place to say…”

“I’m sure the doctors would want to know about it,” a bit worried now, you wondered how Sam could have been hurt before. It could really be some information the doctors needed to know! It wasn’t as if his family knew a thing about him, it seemed.

“Well, I suppose you’re right.”

* * *

 

While Charlie was spending her Friday night on a much-anticipated date with her online friend  _Ruthy_ , who she had spent the last three months gushing to you about, you had a date of your own at the hospital.

Your Jeep had other ideas, though.

“Damn it,” you growl, kicking angrily at the tire that was comically flat, as if just for God to laugh at you. “Just had to ignore that repair, didn’t you, (Y/N)?” The nail that you’d been avoiding paying to have fixed until payday had finally taken its toll, when your tire had blown on the highway. Really, you were lucky you didn’t wreck when you felt the threatening  _thump-thump-thump_  of your rim on asphalt, but sitting at the side of the road, all you could do was blame yourself for this.

The sun was already low in the sky, and in another hour sunset would settle into nightfall. The last place you wanted to be was on the side of the road with a spare you couldn’t even put on because your damn lug-nuts were on too tight for you to be able to get off. With a defeated sigh, you crouch back down to take up the lug wrench once again, in the hopes that maybe third time's the charm and you find some strength you hadn’t had before.

You’re in the middle of struggling with it, a slew of grumbled profanities slipping from you, when the low rumble of an engine draws closer in the distance. Your attention isn’t drawn from your own work until you hear the car pull off the road, and you find the driver stopping a little behind your Jeep, blinding you slightly with the circular headlights and drawing your hand up to shield your eyes.

For a moment, your heart skips with icy adrenaline. You’d seen enough horror movies to know where this could go.

When the lights turn off, you blink away your blindness, the spots in your vision resolving just as the driver’s door opens and a man steps out, calling to you, “You need some help over there, princess?”

He was tall, with short hair that bordered on a buzz in the back, and stubble trailing along his jaw. His smile was warm, though, blindingly white teeth parting his plump lips. A leather jacket framed his broad shoulders, with a flannel layered beneath it, nearly covering the Henley that peeked from below.

But it was the car that caught your eye next. All black and sleek and something right out of a period piece set in the sixties. It was a car that was cared for--- fawned over--- that much was apparent.

Hell, it looked better than the old and slightly rusted ‘95 Jeep you bought off your uncle back in the day for two grand before leaving town, and was probably twice the age. At least. You were guessing it was a Chevy.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” you respond cautiously, after weighing your options. No way were you getting these lugs off by yourself, “Just having a hard time with the lug-nuts, is all.”

“Hey, leave it to me. I gotta’ impact wrench in my trunk, it’ll be better than that old thing you’re using,” you hadn’t thought his smile could get wider, but you caught a glimpse of it before he turned to move to his trunk, popping it and rummaging around. Your watch never left him, not wanting to turn your back on a stranger on the side of the highway.

It had absolutely nothing to do with how attractive he was. Yeah, nothing at all to do with  _that_.

It doesn’t take him all that long to fish the wrench from his trunk, which he shakes a bit in his hand at you as if he’s discovered a treasure, before he makes his way on over. When he comes closer, you notice his eyes are green, right before he leans down towards your tire.

“I appreciate it,” you begin, but he just waves you off, taking the lugs off as if you hadn’t been struggling for the last thirty minutes with the damned things. You might just need to get yourself a wrench like the one he had, if you could save up enough.

“Don’t mention it. These things can be a bitch to get off with the manual wrenches, especially if they were tightened in a shop,” he sighs, making quick work of the flat and replacing it with your spare as you put the now-ruined tire in your cargo. By the time you come back around to the side of your car, he’s already lowering the jack, seemingly finished.

“There, should get you home now,” and he was grinning at you again.

“You have no idea what a life saver you are,” you sigh gratefully, but feeling a little guilty for taking up this kind stranger’s time, “I’d pay you for your time, but all I’ve got is like five bucks in cash and a gift card to _Charlie’s Coffee House_  on me.”

He laughs at that, “Don’t worry about it. Just call it helping a damsel in distress.” With a playful wink, he moves around you to head back to his car, leaving you with the jack and repaired tire.

Still, you call after him, offering a wave as you climb back into your Jeep, “Thanks, stranger!”

* * *

 

Albeit a little later than you intended, you eventually arrived at the hospital to hand off the information you learned that morning from Arthur Ketch. Telling yourself you were there to pass on the info wasn’t enough to deny the fact that you didn’t want to go back to your empty house just yet. You could have turned around and went home as soon as you finished your conversation with the nurse, but instead you lingered, moving to Sam’s bedside.

“Hey,” you murmur low, almost half-hoping for an answer that doesn’t come, your only response his steady breathing, “do you mind if I sit?” With the chair comes a contented sigh, the ache in your heels subsiding just a bit as you finally get off your feet for the day. With a sigh, you murmur, “You won’t believe the day I’ve had.” Looking around the hospital room, you notice the things that hadn’t been there the day before.

There were flowers, an assortment of daisies in all different hues, along with the  _Get Well Soon_  cards that Jo had littered the windowsill with. A militarian-looking duffel bag was in the corner of the room, left by John, stuffed full of an extra set of clothes as if Sam could wake up at any moment and walk out of here. A tug in your heart reminded you how you wished he would, not just for his own sake, but for theirs.

“They love you,” a soft smile comes to your lips. “Mary misses you, more than from just this... I can tell.” Looking back to Sam, you sigh, “I’m sorry I roped you into this whole, engagement thing, but I couldn’t tell them I wasn’t really getting married to you. They let me in, and I can’t bring myself to tell them different.” Your hands fidget with your bag as you dangle it between your knees, your elbows resting on your thighs as you lean towards him, “I know it’s probably selfish, but I’m going to go to the family dinner, Sam. I don’t expect you to wake up and fall madly in love with me at first sight or anything--- I’m not going to ever be a perfect model girlfriend, like I’m absolutely  _positive_ you’ve had in the past--- no matter how awesome it would be to feel wanted like that, and if it was by you, that would be amazing, because the more and more I hear about you, the more amazing you apparently are. I know you’ll wake up and I’ll have to go on with my life. I know I’m going to have to let them go, but I just…” you huff out a chuckle, but there’s no humor behind it, “I don’t want to be alone for once, you know? I just want to have this one dinner, okay? Is that really so bad?”

Of course, Sam doesn’t answer. He just breathes steadily. He could have tricked you into thinking he was sleeping, if it weren’t for the hospital gown and the beeping of the monitors in the background.

Pursing your lips, you add dryly, reaching to brush his hair out of his face, “You’re a pretty good listener. Thanks, Sam.”

With a sigh, you will a smile onto your face, “Hey, on a lighter note, I got you something.” You fish through your back, pulling out the small, stuffed bear who proudly wore a tiny _Lawrence Memorial_ shirt and had  _Feel Better_ embroidered on its left paw. It brings an embarrassed chuckle from you, “The gift shop is lined with rows of these things, but I think this one’s the cutest.” You sit it on the bedside table, making sure the bear can sit upright on its own before letting it go.

* * *

 

Dean’s anger was tempered just enough by the time he got to the hospital that he wasn’t entirely steaming as the elevator let him off at the floor his brother was apparently on.

_“You needed to be focused on finishing the job. It’s not like you could have finished in Chicago any faster.”_

Yeah,  _well_ , he could have damn well tried if he’d known something like this had happened. Dean would have dropped everything, job be damned. But he didn’t want to fight with his dad right now. Right now, Dean wanted to see his little brother.

Frustration and worry matched themselves in equal strides as he moved towards the nurse’s station, catching the eye of a plump woman with latte hued skin as he leaned over the counter to ask her softly for directions to his room.

“Oh, he’s in three-oh-eight, right over there on the left,” the nurse points out to him the room, drawing his eye to spot the glass-lined room. Dean’s about to thank her and head over, when she adds, “Just knock before you go in.”

“Wait--- I thought Sam was in a coma?” Dean raises a brow.

“So you don’t startle the fiancée,” she explains, looking with pity towards the room, “Poor thing comes by every night to check on him.”

Dean does a good job of hiding his shock. Keeping the emotion simmering beneath the surface. The most she gets is his widened eyes, though they turn towards the room quickly enough.

“Thanks for the tip.”

Dean maneuvers around another nurse wheeling a vitals machine as he makes his way to the door, peering through the window as inconspicuously as possible to catch sight of the fiancée he hadn’t known Sam had.

Her back was to him, seated in a chair as she leaned a bit on the edge of Sam’s bedside. Her fingers fiddled with a teddybear on the nightstand, trying to keep it from falling over before she could be satisfied with leaving it alone. A hint of recognition flashes through him as he stares at her, before moving to open the door without a knock.

* * *

 

The sound of the door opening draws your attention, and instinctively you move away from the bedside in case it was a doctor or nurse who needed to get to Sam, only for your eyes to find someone entirely different.

“It  _is_ you,” comes from the man in the doorway, who looked on at you with an incredulous look in his green eyes.

It was the guy who fixed your tire.

“Y-You! What are you doing here!” you stood, immediately on edge, your mind rushing back to the worst-case, horror-movie scenario, “Did you follow me?!”

“What?” his nose wrinkles up at the accusation, rolling his eyes, “No! I’m not some freakin’ creep who goes around stalking chicks who have flat tires on the freeway. Sam’s my brother!”

You weren’t as good at hiding your shock, your mouth parting slightly at the news, as your finger pointed at him warily, “So you’re Dean, then?”

“Now you’re on the right track, princess,” he sighs, before his eyes widen a fraction at himself and his hand comes to rub the back of his neck nervously, “Eh, I mean--- Guess it’s about time I learned your name, huh?”

“Oh! Yeah. Right,” you stammer, before offering it and an apology, “Sorry.”

“Well,” Dean frowns, glancing to Sam as he moves to the side of the bed, reaching out to give his brother’s hand a squeeze, “wish we met under better circumstances.” Dean’s eyes find yours again, studying you as you stood there awkwardly, as if trying to figure something out in his mind, before speaking, “So… you’re Sam’s fianceé, huh?” He said it like he already knew the answer, but just wanted to hear it confirmed from you for himself.

Heat burns at the back of your mind as you stammer out your lie, poorly, “Y-Yep. That’s me.”

Dean must take your nervousness for something else, because he just shakes his head with a sad sounding sigh, “I can get why he wouldn’t want to tell everyone all at once, but… I just can’t believe he didn’t tell  _me_ about you, though.”


End file.
